


Kisses

by Millereflets



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Complete, F/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millereflets/pseuds/Millereflets
Summary: Everytime they kiss, Elizabeth wonders. AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set at the time when Darcy proposes Elizabeth in the movie, at Rosing, and they fight.

The first time he kisses her, she is unsure as to who had initiated it.

It is raining, and everything is a blur even before they kiss. She is hurling cruel words at him, as brutal as she knows, making sure that they are true, for it is truth that will hurt the most. But a part of her mind murmurs look, _look_ how greyish blue are his eyes and she is reminded of the stormy sea of Cornwall, many winters ago.  

She is spent, all words exhausted into the angry pinpricks in her eyes, and then, his eyes waver, and dip to her lips, and there is fluttering of paper pianos and shuddering snapdragons in her throat, and when his lips part, Elizabeth knows her fate, for the next few moments, is sealed.

 _Their_ fate is sealed.

He tilts his head. She stretches her neck. His lips are persimmon against his pale, pale skin, and there are stories written with blue veins in the corners of his mouth.

It is only a pressure, a fingerprint, a falling star all the way to her stomach. His lips are secrets and salt, his breath like paper; his fingertips are rough as they rasp against her cheek, the tiny flakes of skin catching. She has accidentally stumbled upon happiness and her skin prickles with the cold delight of sailing on a stormy day. Her fingers are tangled in the seaweed snares of his hair, and she drowns, only for a while. She does not even want to come up.

Then he is gone, taking away the coast and the gentle malice of his sand scoured words,  and she is only a wisp of a girl standing on the edge of a field of swishing deep grass, feet thrumming on the old stones of an old building. They are as bare and rough as she is full of desire and dread, and avarice and rage.

Elizabeth Bennet's mouth turns bitter with taste of could-have-been's.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time, she kisses him to do away with all this tinsel pretence that drapes over them, flashing conspicuously under their relations' shiny eyes. She nibbles at him at his home this time, and it feels her with a green happiness; Elizabeth wants to be leave scars if she can't leave anything else for a token. 

It is next to the piano forte, as he shows her a landscape she cannot comprehend. She can’t see past the basic wholeness of him, the edge of his wrist, and the slope of his jaw, and there are ugly, rosy things blossoming in her stomach, tearing her insides to rest shivering and twisting and _burning_ in her heart and she can feel the odious war cries curling her paper thin skin.

When her fingers curl, she only wants to drown the abject nonsense rolling inside the great hollows in her head. _(And let's be honest, what better way to do that other than taking him, when he has a whole ocean tiding in his eyes?)_

When she reaches up to his _whitewhitewhite_ neck with its carriage of pride and love and tenderness, there are sunbeams pulsing in her cheeks and she wonders whether he can taste them under her tongue. His mouth is the sea and there are unruly waves howling in her veins, and _oh, oh, oh, oh._

He is heavy and her hands roam and she is gasping out pure notes and choking on sunshine, and there are his lips and the piano forte, and _ohmygod, she is going shatter with the all the innocence carved in his bones._

He is going to say something, something painful and lovely about love and eternity and beating the world together, but this is not the beginning of happiness.  Just another puddle, just another broken moment which makes her thinks that the marrow of her spine is rife with freedom.  And now that she had her fill, the illusionist has departed; she will go in the wake.

Elizabeth is petty, and she takes pride in it. 

They dust their clothes. She curtsies and leaves, and wonders whether she is kind or cruel.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth visits Mr. Darcy at Pemberly. After the first visit, when her uncle and aunt were there.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time, _the next time_ , (oh god, it is as if Temptation itself has found them now) they fumble with jagged fingers, ripping each other furtively, _securely_ into skin in a deserted room in Pemberly Hall.

She stumbles, _accidentally,_ into Pemberly, and _Uncle and aunt are not here for the day,_ and they, so very _virginal_ and so very friendly, _friendfriendfriend_ , and they are rambling in the hallways, and their words are so loud and out of place that they ricochet off the wall and her misshapen ribs (containing a straining heart with roots growing out of it) and lie on the floor, unwanted and Elizabeth’s lungs are filling with the scent of irony.

He reaches for her, as she reaches for him, and then they are blending like water drops on old paint over a new canvas and his rough finger pads trail the birth of Orion on her skin, and he is wrapping her around like honour and guilt. Their breaths mingle like shared blood and newborn dreams. 

He leaves tiny bites on her avian throat, and she leaves bloodied half-moons on his sand white back and the sounds of the ocean skates wildly inside her head. Splinters jut into her spine, as he presses her into the old wooden table, and somewhere, she is caterwauling at the stars, spilling phosphorescent tears into an empty galaxy waiting to ignite. He tastes like whiskey and sin and goodness, and she wonders what red and silver taste like as she drags her lips on his collarbone.  There is electricity fusing with her teeth and fingernails. 

Later he tells her she is like the winter, lovely and bright snow under glimmering sun, sweet scent of pine wood in the hearth. Elizabeth agrees, only because the winter is also cold and uncaring. 

She leaves, for the third time, and she wants nothing to be like the things she does to him.

But this time, he is brave and foolish enough to follow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth visits Pemberly alone. Imagined during her stay in Lambton.


	4. Chapter 4

He follows her right into the noisy, smelly midst of her life, so the next time they kiss is the wedding pew.  She knows this is another interval, but for the first time she falls for the illusion: _This is the beginning._

The wedding vows are said, and then comes the beginning of the end in the shape of ominous, beautiful words, _You may kiss the bride_ , and she is giggling manically inside her mouth with her razor laugh coiling around her windpipe and the feeling is a lot like tears.

But her spine is arcing to be tuned to c sharp under his trickling fingers. He is moving closer with ocean eyes like you are the pirate queen, lips nearly upon yours, and yet you must pause because how else will you cry out from the pain of your nerves being set on fire.

There is something unbearable, something lovely and something heart stopping in the way his ballad of a mouth is grinning and she can feel it emerge with wet wings and wondering eyes into the world of sun showers glimmering in water shadows, this young love, and imprint itself to the inside of her eyelids.

He is waiting and she is so painfully happy that her bones are splintering.

“Kiss me,” She whispers.  

He does and her dirty, dusty blood flocks through her indigo veins and explodes across her face like sunset, like redemption, like the red of rainbows, like the aftermath of a battle won and lost.

It is summer now. It will always be summer. 

 

 

_~fin~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding.  
> PS: I am heavily influenced by Queen Nightingle's work. She writes on fanfiction.net, and primarily on James and Lily. Check her out, y'all.  
> PPS. Also as you can see, this is very un-Austen like. I love Austen, but I have always imagined Pride and Prejudice to be a lot more physical. It is, afterall, about young people. Please give me feedback, and please comment.


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